Draigon's Lair
by Archaeologist
Summary: Enemies Anakin Skywalker and Jocasta Nu clash about use of the Temple library with dire consequences. Takes place from TPM to ROTS.
1. Age 11

**The Draigon's Lair**

**Author:** Archaeologist  
**Rating:** G  
**Timeframe:** just after The Phantom Menace to Episode 3  
**Summary:** Enemies Anakin Skywalker and Jocasta Nu clash with dire consequences.  
**Other stuff:** Thanks to Allison and Sue for being my beta readers. Italics means_ means thoughts  
_**Disclaimer:** I do not own Anakin Skywalker or Jocasta Nu or the Star Wars concept; Lucasfilm does. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No credits have changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.

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**Chapter 1**** – Age 11**

The Temple library was hushed.

Muted sounds of conversation and the quiet clatter of busy datapads echoed in the vast spaces, giving the boy a sensation of a mighty cathedral, a sacred place of knowledge. His footfalls were soft, tentative as he moved through the lines of bookshelves and pillars, glancing, then quietly passing tables and chairs full of beings intent on their own work, moving like a ghost or some unwanted waif towards his intended destination.

Anakin Skywalker, the eleven-year old Padawan of Obi-Wan Kenobi, did not want to be caught here. His Master would not be happy if he found out that his apprentice was in the library without permission. He would be even less pleased when he found out why. _He would be mad at me for sure_, thought Anakin anxiously, _but I don't care. I need to know._

He found a quiet corner, far from the others, where a lone terminal glowed into the dusky space, pulled up a chair and sat down. His fingers flew to the keyboard and he began his frantic search. He glanced over his shoulder surreptitiously, trying to detect if anyone could see him or stop his use of the computer. But no one approached and so he relaxed, hunting all the while through the endless databases.

The computer gave a soft beep, requesting further data. Craning his neck, looking again to make sure there were no observers, Anakin turned back and obediently typed in the information required. The computer flashed - working, working - and the child leaned back in his chair, patiently waiting.

As he watched the flickering of the screen, all the while unseeing, unfocused, his thoughts drifting past the monitor, past the halls of knowledge and into the vastness of space.

Space was cold, he mused, but the frigid temperatures were nothing to the aching aloneness of his life here in the great Temple . He thought again of Tatooine, that great bright ball floating in the ether, full of heat and misery and yet containing the incredible warmth of his mother.

He missed her, missed her desperately, missed her warm smile, her soft voice and the gentle touch of her hand on his cheek.

The Jedi Master who had found and freed him, Qui-Gon Jinn, knew the value of a smile and a friendly ruffle of his hair. He would have understood that the child, Chosen One or not, needed human contact as much as he needed air. Master Qui-Gon would have understood but he was gone, dead - as much as his mother was gone from him now.

Deep down, Anakin knew that Master Obi-Wan cared for him, as much as any Jedi could, but somehow it wasn't enough. Master was kind and thoughtful and never beat him as his slaver owner, Watto, had done.

But he never hugged him, either, never patted his cheek or thumped his back when Anakin had done well, never gripped his shoulder to let Anakin know that he was wanted, loved. Never touched him at all.

When he agreed to go with Master Qui-Gon long ago, Anakin had thought that the Jedi would be able to give him a sense of purpose, would stem the desperate yearning of his heart, would still the harsh whispers and glaring visions that so often cursed him, would utterly embrace him as one of theirs. But they did not, not really. And now the desolate silences in his heart were almost too much to bear. He needed to know that his mother was all right, was safe. He needed...

The computer beeped again and across the screen flashed - No Information Available.

_Chuuba,_ mused a despondent Anakin. _What do I do now?_

A sound brought him up sharp, an ancient voice, gravelly and low, "May I help you?"

The Padawan turned around quickly and looked up into the worn face of the Library's Archivist, Madame Jocasta Nu. She was standing directly in back of his chair, looking first at the screen and then at him. Dressed in a beige Jedi outfit, strange arcane markings decorating her stola, her white hair pulled back into a tight bun, Madame Nu waited patiently for his reply.

"No, Ma'am. Thank you." he said, trying to suppress his twin surges of anger and guilt, thinking, _Just go away!_

"Come now, youngling. It appears that you have been having some problems with your research." She looked at him again, smiling slightly, apparently curious as to why he would be back here in the stacks, secluded and alone. "Or should I say, Padawan..."

"It's nothing, really. I'm done here anyway." He wanted her to leave, to let him alone. She would tell Master Obi-Wan and he couldn't have that. His guilt swelled higher and he moved his chair back quickly, trying to escape. But she was blocking his path.

"What is your name, child?" Her voice was sharp now, suspicious. Anakin knew then that he could not get away without telling her something, anything. The truth first and then maybe later, some half-truths would do.

"Anakin Skywalker, Ma'am."

"Ah, yes. Padawan to Master Kenobi..."

The severe look on her face said it all. Madame Nu's expression had changed and hardened when she realized who he was.

Anakin could almost hear her disapproval - that Skywalker boy, apprenticed to Obi-Wan Kenobi, accepted far too late in his training and completely unwelcome as a Jedi apprentice to most of the Order. Oh yes, she recognized him all right.

The Archivist straightened her already rigid back, pursing her crabbed mouth, staring at him and asked sharply. "And what are you working on, apprentice?"

Anakin didn't want to tell her. She was looking at him as did most of the other Jedi, like some kind of creepy bug. And then the aching aloneness was back, pointed as a vibroblade in his heart. He didn't want to say anything, desperately wanted to get away but she was larger than he, an adult, a Jedi to whom he was pledged to obey. He sat back down in the chair, hunched and miserable, waiting for the strike.

"Shy, are we? Here, young one. Let me help you." said Jocasta Nu and she leaned over to tap the keyboard. Anakin knew that, in a few short moments, she would be able to ascertain the real reason for his furtive quest. She knew the Archives well.

"And who is Shmi Skywalker, Padawan?" her voice was scathing, dripping with repressed sarcasm. The answer was unmistakable as Anakin squirmed in his chair, head bowed in despair, wretched and alone. Pressing the obvious point, she probed, "A relative, perhaps?"

Anakin went rigid. No one made fun of his mother, no one.

"She is my mother." he said in a miserable, defensive tone. "I was just trying to see..."

"See what, young one? The Archive records clearly state that there is no Shmi Skywalker."

"Then the records are wrong." was his quick and sullen response.

"Impossible. If an item does not appear in our records, it does not exist."

Madame Nu was quite emphatic as she drew up to her full height, arms folded across her chest, glaring at him with disdain and disbelief. Anakin knew that, to her, he was a problem child, someone with no respect for his betters, someone that should not be here – at all.

Anakin's face grew even more sullen. His voice was rising in heated response. "My mother is not an _item_." And then his eyes filled with tears as he choked back, whispering. "She does exist, she's still alive. I just know it."

For an instant, a mere moment, the Archivist's face melted into compassion but then it hardened again. "You have no right to use Jedi resources for personal use. That is forbidden."

She backed away, pulled roughly at his chair and said, ice-filled voice pouring over him. "Go, Padawan Skywalker. I will speak to Master Kenobi about your improper use of Temple equipment. Do not come back here again without permission, written permission." When he didn't leave immediately but stood there in absolute shock, his face wet with harsh tears, she spat out, glaring. "Go now!"

He scurried away as fast as he could, body huddled in on itself, sobs echoing in the cavernous spaces. But his tears weren't enough to block out Madame Nu's disgusted words, "Looking for his mother, of all things! That boy is nothing but trouble. The Council have lost their collective minds. He'll turn for sure."


	2. Age 15

**Chapter 2 – age 15**

_Four years later..._

The lanky teenager paused at the entrance to the Library, drew in a deep breath and then sauntered slowly into the vast hall. Casting a furtive glance around the room, his casual demeanor a pretense, the Padawan scanned the huge space, searching but not finding the loathsome creature. He nodded and then briefly smiled. Straightening his shoulders, he strode on, turning neither right nor left, walked straight back into the stacks, found an unused terminal and sat down. The sigh was audible as his body visibly relaxed into the comfortable chair.

Fifteen-year old Anakin thought grimly, _Good. The old draigon isn't here. Finally some peace in this place_.

The Temple library was quiet that day, hushed as always but without the usual comings and goings of Jedi intent on research. A holiday for most and Anakin knew that the detested hag, Jocasta Nu, was not on Coruscant. The gossips told the tale that the Archivist was finally going on sabbatical on some distant world. _Hopefully with lots of biting, nasty bugs, the stench of a garbage pit and climate hotter than Tatooine_, he wished with a spiteful smile.

Dismissing his thoughts of that ruthless harridan as unworthy of a Jedi apprentice, Anakin turned his contemplation to more pleasing things. The adolescent gazed upward, admiring the vaulted ceilings which gleamed with mosaic figures and mythological creatures of the ancient past and then lowered his eyes to look at the lines of glowing datapads converging into a single point, a luminescent window in the far distance.

The Temple Library had always held a kind of awe for Anakin Skywalker. The quiet spaces were filled with majesty and knowledge, and the realization that the nearly infinite works of the galaxy were amassed at the Temple and accessible to him was, to the former slave, almost overwhelming. He wanted it all, to slake his thirst delving into the ancient tomes, to feel the weight of the shear bulk of wisdom in this place. He wanted so much to learn everything. And it was here, available to all the Jedi, even him. Or, it would have been, if not for the constant presence of the despised Madam Jocasta Nu.

Over the years, the Archivist had made it a point, her mission really, to seek out and torment Anakin whenever possible. Two years back, after a particularly nasty "discussion" with the old witch, he made the blunder of mentioning it to Master Obi-Wan.

Of course, his Master took the side of the adult, assuring the young Padawan that he must have been mistaken. Obi-Wan had lectured his apprentice for an hour or so, insisting that no Jedi would act in such an unprofessional manner, that compassion was central to a Jedi's life and that he must look beyond the obvious disciplines to see that Madame Nu was merely trying to help Anakin learn the ways of the Temple.

He answered "Yes, Master. Of course, Master." But, all the while, the rage and dismay at the unbelievable injustice choked him, the tears burning behind his eyes as he refused to let them fall. Anakin did not mention it again.

However, he wasn't here to think about that Sith hag, but about his own Master. While Obi-Wan was quite blind to the failings of others in the Order, he seemed to delight in pointing out Anakin's failings as a Padawan.

_No...no..._ the apprentice reflected, _That's not quite right. Master doesn't take pleasure in discipline and lecturing. He just doesn't seem to know how to do anything else_.

Anakin slowly shook his head, frowning. He just didn't understand his Master; the man was so confusing and contradictory. Obi-Wan was ever considerate and helpful about anything to do with his Jedi instruction, going out of his way to explain things that others, trained in the ways of the Force from early childhood, would have understood almost without thinking. And they both worked hard on the apprentice's lightsaber skills, so much so, that Anakin now surpassed all except the senior padawans in his ability with the blade. This was a major feat in itself, and he could tell that his Master was pleased and proud of his accomplishment.

Yet, in other ways, he continued to disappoint Master Obi-Wan and Anakin was getting frustrated with the lectures and punishments.

The Padawan tried his best. It was almost as if they spoke different languages or perhaps he inhabited an alternate universe from the rest of the Jedi. He could not even begin to comprehend it.

And increasingly, Obi-Wan and Anakin were at odds over the simplest things, from the dark clothes that he wore and the lack of friends, to the way he looked at his Master during sparring. The apprentice slumped in his chair, thinking of the incessant criticism and perceived faults that rocketed his way every day and his own guilt and anger at the overwhelming unfairness of it all.

"I don't understand," he muttered unhappily as he stared at the terminal. "Am I that bad? What have I done that he hates me so much?"

Even as he spoke the words, he knew that they weren't quite true.

Obi-Wan didn't really hate him. He never hurt Anakin, at least not physically and the Padawan wasn't ignored. Rather, he was tolerated, an inconvenience, the result of a dying man's plea, a pledge that could not be broken no matter how much the Master might wish to. No, he was not hated but he was not loved, either.

And he wanted to be loved, so much. Anakin was beginning to think that it would never happen, at least not here and certainly not by Obi-Wan. He had noticed long ago that his Master never hugged him, never ruffled his hair, never showed the slightest need for physical contact, except in training and then it was only the lightest, the briefest touch. At first, he had thought that it was the way of the Jedi. Yet over the years, he noticed that the other Master/Padawan pairs were quite affectionate with quick hugs and warm smiles. It was only his Master that didn't... wouldn't...

_Why can't he? Why not?_ thought Anakin, miserable, tears catching in his throat as his memories spiraled inward, searching for an answer. _When did he ever show the slightest regard? At the Battle_ _of Naboo, maybe? Or perhaps, the problems really started there._

That war had claimed many lives, both Gungan and human and, most importantly, that of Obi-Wan's own beloved Master, Qui-Gon Jinn.

Anakin missed the great man, tall, empathetic, with laughing eyes. He was a wonder to the young former slave, a great spark in the Force, a warrior, a Jedi. That had been long ago and Anakin didn't think of him much anymore, the sad memories ebbing fast. However, Master Obi-Wan's remembrances of that unthinkable day did not fade but festered deep. He never seemed to completely recover from that devastating loss.

Whenever the topic of Naboo surfaced, his Master went utterly quiet, the bright light in his eyes dimming to a lifeless grey, face shuttered, body collapsing inward, going to some distant place where Anakin was not welcome.

_Even now, Master sometimes looks at me and sees only pain. Maybe that's why he can't...love me..._ he mused unhappily. _Is he to blame or am I? Is it my fault? Is there something in me that he just can't accept into his heart?_

When he had first arrived at the Temple , Anakin had tried to fit in, desperate to be accepted among his age group within the Order. But he had problems making friends here. The odd man, the outsider, the Chosen one with too many midichlorians and too little control over his emotions.

Everyone else had grown up with the others of their creche and there was no room for anyone new, especially for the illustrious Padawan with such lightsaber skills. He had asked his Master about it, hoping for some insight or suggestions on how to break the barriers. Obi-Wan had shrugged it off with the 'concentrate on the here and now' lecture. It had not made much sense. Yet Anakin smiled and nodded at the appropriate moments and his Master went away satisfied. The Padawan did not ask again.

The glowing terminal brought him back to disquieting reality.

"I have to know. Is it my flaw, my failing? What can I do to make him love me as a father should?" he whispered into the echoing spaces. Despairing, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, then looked up with determination and began to search the databases for insight into Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

The information on his Master was very complete but not accessible to most Jedi. Still, Anakin was not like most Jedi and he quickly hacked into the files. He started with the earliest entries, thinking that Obi-Wan, as a child, may have had some trauma that damaged his ability to interact with others, especially teenagers. The Bandomeer incident made riveting reading and he was just about to start on the Melida/Daan affair when a fleeting shadow moved across the monitor.

"Is there something I can help you with, Padawan Skywalker?" the detested voice rang out.

_Chuuba,_ thought Anakin grimly, s_he's not supposed to be here!_

"No, Ma'am. I am writing a paper on great Jedi of the Order and have found some resources that are adequate." His voice was ragged with effort, trying and failing miserably to sound calm and controlled.

Madam Jocasta Nu smiled spitefully as she turned to face the young Padawan. "Are you sure that I cannot assist you? I have many resources that are not available to children. Let me see what you have so far." The menace in her words was unmistakable.

Anakin quickly moved to turn off the datapad. Still, the Archivist was faster and she brought up the files within moments.

"Ah, Padawan Skywalker. I see that you have been investigating your Master. You must be aware that you do not have access to these files. They are restricted to mind-healers and historians only.'' Her look was one of grim enjoyment, eyes narrowed with a sly smirk playing across her ancient face. She straightened up fast, folded her spindly arms across her chest and said pointedly, viciously. "Certainly not to snoopy Padawans with no business here in the Library."

The teenager was miserable, shoulders hunching, body curling in, all fight gone. She had done it again, catching him out in an infraction, with punishment certain to follow. And the worst thing is that she would tell Obi-Wan. The thought of the disappointment in his Master's eyes cut like a lightsaber blade through his heart.

"I expected no less from you." she spat out, venom clear in that vindictive voice. "Think you are better than the rest of us, do you? Think you can flaunt the rules here. Think again...Padawan."

Wrapping his arms around his body as though to protect it from harm, Anakin stood up. His head hung down, eyes on the exquisite tile floors, looking everywhere but at his old enemy. Growling low, trying to fight the rising misery and the furious glow of surging anger, he spoke clearly. "I have every right to be here. I am a Jedi Padawan, not some lowly slave. I have a right..."

She cut him off, obviously incensed that a mere apprentice, would talk back to her like this. "You have the rights that your Master and this Order have given you. You have broken into files that are restricted, as you well know." Her relentless eyes narrowed as she glared at him. "I will speak to your Master about this as well as the Council. We shall see about your rights, Chosen One."

Anakin hated to be called Chosen One, detested it with a passion, loathed the words coming from the lips of this evil woman. His head shot up, eyes blazing as he looked at her. He stepped forward, his posture menacing, his enmity clearly seen. Madame Nu retreated slightly, but maintained her pose and spat out, "Are you threatening me, Skywalker?"

He stopped at that, rigid in shock, the anger turning into bottomless guilt as the thought of his loss of control swept his senses. His Master, the man Anakin loved with all his heart, who was as a father to him, would never forgive him if he hurt Jocasta Nu. He stepped back, eyes scanning the floor again, misery clearly etched on his young face. "Never, Ma'am. A Jedi does not threaten."

"Just you remember that...Jedi. Now, go. I will be speaking with your Master today about this unfortunate incident. I will leave out nothing, be sure of that." She pointed towards the huge entryway. "What are you waiting for? GO!"

As he raced away, he could hear her muttering, her voice clear in the echoing halls of the Archives, "He's is going to be the death of his Master if he keeps it up. Deceitful, uncontrollable, angry. Oh, yes, he's going to bring balance all right. Chosen One, what are those fools on the Council thinking? He's going to turn, mark my words."

Anakin Skywalker, stumbled through the stacks, bleary-eyed with tears that remained unshed, head down in defeat. But through it all, he would remember this day and all the others. A Jedi may not threaten; however, a Jedi doesn't forget either.


	3. Age 19

**Chapter 3**** – age 19**

_Four years later..._

Through the exquisitely carved wooden doors and into the stately ancient halls of the Temple Library, a tall young man of nineteen strolled in, looking about the place with an air of utter confidence. He was well-known among the Jedi, accepted as one of the finest swordsmen in his class, strong and graceful. In dark tunics, with short blonde hair, cut in a Padawan style, and the ever present braid swinging with each step, the Jedi apprentice knew his place and his place was here within the Jedi Order. Anakin Skywalker, Padawan to Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, was expert with the blade, piloting skills second to none, mission experienced and quietly rumored to be the Chosen One of legend.

Near the entrance, a cluster of senior Padawans were gathered around a long table, heads huddled together as they discussed some business of the Temple. Anakin observed wryly, _Or maybe, they're enjoying the daily gossip._

Anakin glanced towards them, recognizing several. One of the gaggle saw him, smiled, then spoke quietly to the others. The whole group raised their collective heads and a couple waved to him, gesturing him over. He just shook his head and mouthed 'Mission'. And, nodding, the group subsided back into their meeting.

He moved into the stacks of glowing datapads, looking for a quiet terminal where he could work in peace. Anakin looked about him, noting the lovely vast spaces, majestic and regal, the datapad stacks climbing into the far distance of the glorious sunlit windows. He reflected wryly that the great Library had not changed in the nearly ten years he had been at the Temple, still quiet, still beautiful, still filled with wondrous knowledge.

_Except for that fiendish hag, this place is perfect_. The Padawan shook his head in incredulity as a grim smile hardened his face, his eyes narrowing in bitter remembrance. _Quite a balance between the beautiful and the damned... I wonder where that Sith demon is lurking now. Probably dissecting some wiggling creature and enjoying the screams as it died. May she burn for all eternity._

He shrugged his shoulders to ease the sudden tension and frowned. The tainted memories of that witch were like a forgotten stench bubbling onto the fine marbled surface of the tiled floors or acid etching the stately beauty of the Library's windows. The halls of knowledge were less than what they could have been, because of her.

_Enough! To hate her is to give her power, you idiot. Focus on the here and now. Focus on your mission._

He turned with a relaxing smile to the unused terminal and sat down. His hands were swiftly moving onto the keypad, asking for any information on Padmé Amidala, Senator from Naboo. He hadn't seen the breathtakingly beautiful girl in ten years, not since the Battle of Theed.

The Blockade of Naboo. Ah, there was an exploit worthy of the annals of the Jedi. In the midst of that heated battle, young Anakin had become a champion, using the Force and his own incredible luck to blow up that Sith-damned Trade Federation starship, virtually ending the war. He didn't talk much about that time with his Master. At first, he had been eager to recount his exploits, claiming much needed attention for his deeds and rightly so. After all, it was by his hand that the battle was won. But no one seemed interested, especially his Master who looked at him with anguish-filled eyes whenever the event was mentioned, and so the subject was dropped as other momentous matters took precedence.

Now, he would see the lovely Senator again.

_Ah, Padmé..._ he mused, _I wonder if she has forgotten about me. I remember her well, very well indeed._

Anakin had been certain, from the first moment they met, that the lovely Padmé would, someday, be his wife. Never mind that he was a slave at the time and she a Queen. The absolute conviction remained as he grew older. It didn't matter that it was forbidden for a Jedi to marry, or that he hadn't seen or heard from her in all that time. It didn't make any difference to him. He knew, with utter confidence, that she would be his, he just knew it.

Over the long years, he had thought about the beautiful girl every day. At first, he dreamed about the happy times, quiet laughter as some silliness that R2 had gotten into, innocent memories that invaded his psyche and brought him joy. As he grew older, however, the dreams became more intense, more sensual, almost disturbing to the young Jedi. Several times, recently, he had woken bathed in sweat, reeling from some experience that left him breathless and longing for more.

Of course, he didn't tell his Master about such fantasies. The thought of discussing them brought a blush to his still-maturing face. _Besides, what would Obi-Wan know of the longing and excitement that filled my nights? Master, with a woman, with anyone... the whole idea was ridiculous..._ he thought, giving a little chuckle.

But, now he was going to see her again. The very concept was intoxicating.

Humming a tuneless ditty, Anakin brought up the files on Padmé Amidala. He had kept up with her career from the beginning, following her exploits first as Queen and now Senator. Now, astonishingly, he and Master Obi-Wan were assigned to guard her. His smile grew wider. Anakin was delighted, eager to investigate some of the more intimate details of her life...for the mission, of course. Where she goes, what she does, what meetings she attends and with whom, her likes and dislikes... especially her likes with regard to friends, male friends...

_Focus, you imbecile. Focus on the mission... not on whether she will be happy to see you when you finally meet again_. Anakin shook his head. _Of course, she will be happy, maybe more than happy..._ And his face broke into a wide, disarming grin.

His database investigations had brought up a recent 3D holopic of Padmé, serious and exquisite, in a purple gown that set off the color of her soft brown eyes and lustrous hair and showed the perfection of her form. Anakin's breath caught in a quick gasp and turned ragged as he stared at such a wonder. His face flushed, heart beginning to pound, he reached to touch her face...

"Still investigating are we, Padawan?" The thready, onerous sound brought him out of his sensual reverie as he turned to see that old Sith-bred draigon, Jocasta Nu. Her thin smile turned into a sly smirk as she stared first at him and then at Padmé's likeness.

"Preparing for a mission, Ma'am," Anakin's voice was flat and hard, venom seeping in. _Damn her!_

"Yes, Senator Amidala is in grave danger, from her would-be assassins." The witch agreed. "Or perhaps more so from an apprentice who has other things on his mind..." The insinuation was strong.

_Chuuba, she knows. Blast, how can she?_ The turbulent fear of discovery was quickly overcome as Anakin schooled his visage into one of utter calm. It seems that Master's lessons were not all ignored.

He looked up at his old enemy and spoke softly, firmly. "I don't know what you mean, Ma'am. If you will excuse me, I must complete my investigation by this afternoon."

"Pretense is unwise, Padawan. It can lead you astray. Didn't your Master teach you anything about lying to your betters?"

"Betters? And who would that be, Madam? Certainly not you, with your insidious slanders and continual complaints to my Master. You have tormented me for nearly ten years. Is that the behavior of a Jedi?" He deliberately turned back towards the terminal, continuing to scroll through the files. His shoulders were an entangled snare of pain as he tried to suppress his rising fury.

_I cannot let her get to me this time. Not again. Blast her to the seven frigid hells of Ryloth!_

"You are one to talk about Jedi behavior. It is a wonder to me that you haven't been dismissed long ago for your insolence. How a great Knight like Kenobi could have thought of taking you as his Padawan is laughable." Her eyes were blazing.

Anakin went very still for a moment. The tainted barb about his Master, the potent thought of Obi-Wan's rejection swirled in his mind, adding outrage to the simmering pot of emotions churning through the young apprentice. He stood abruptly, towering over his adversary.

"Madam Nu, whether you approve or not, I am Obi-Wan Kenobi's Jedi Padawan, assigned by the Council to guard the esteemed Senator from Naboo. This is a sanctioned mission with great import to the future of the Republic. You are standing in the way of my duty. Every second you seek to torment me, the Senator may be in greater danger. Now back off!"

She took a startled step backwards, her brittle voice, dripping with sarcasm. "Well, well, the impertinent apprentice has claws...You will not threaten me, Padawan."

He took a step forward, looking at her with pain-filled and puzzled eyes. He must get some answers and end this torment somehow. "I don't understand this. Why do you hate me so? What have I ever done to you to deserve this?"

She glared up at him, her ancient body trembling with anger. "Why should I bother to hate you, Chosen One? You are just an insignificant child."

"Chosen one? Is that why you torment me every chance you can? Because of that foolish prophecy? It's just a legend, a myth. It can't possibly be true."

"Oh, it's true all right. That prophecy, that legend is coming to pass even now. You are the Chosen One, the one who will bring... I've seen the records, damn you, I've read the whole of it. If you become a Jedi, you will bring balance. But at what cost..." She drew a shuddering breath and looked away, eyes unfocused, peering into the uneasy future. The pulsing blood-red aura of her hatred morphed into a bottomless sorrow with startling rapidity. Anakin just stood there for a moment, only now realizing what this harridan was saying.

"You're afraid of me..." he whispered, eyes widening in disbelief.

"No." Brought out of her bleak reverie, she shook her head, scowling at him.

"Fear leads to suffering. I have been suffering all these years because of your fear." Anakin's anger was rising again, thinking of all the barbs, the persecutions, the fights with his Master over this...this woman's misguided and unwarranted obsessions.

"No."

"The legends are just fables, foolish delusions of some far-off future that will never come to pass." Anakin frowned at the Archivist, his mouth tight with contempt.

"Those legends are true. Don't you understand? The Jedi have been guardians of peace and justice for a thousand generations and we serve only the Light. Only the Force." Her voice was rising, shrill and thin with dread. "Yet in that blaze of light is the shadow, the Darkside, aching for balance."

Her bark of mocking laughter was sharp. "Balance! What fool would want this? For the Jedi's light must go out of the universe if balance is to be fulfilled." She stared at him again. "You are the Chosen One, the one to bring destruction to the Order. Those idiots on the Council refuse to see it. Kenobi will not listen. But I know. I've seen the records. You must not become a Jedi. You will turn to the Darkside...and we will be annihilated."

"Never! I will never turn to the Dark." His roar of denial echoed into the cavernous spaces.

She didn't look at him but past him, deep into her own despair, rocking slightly. "I tried so hard to get them to dismiss you. I argued and cajoled but they would not listen, stubborn fools. Knew they would never change their minds. You were so young, I thought...I thought I could get you to leave, to give up and go home to your mother. Tormented you, spread lies about you. Stubbornly, you would not go. You are more obstinate than they."

The Padawan just stood there, thunderstruck. "How could you do this?"

Her eyes held his gaze. "To save the Order, I would kill you myself. But... it's not too late, Anakin. Not too late. Leave the Temple, go home. Save us all from this."

"No, you old fool. I've had enough of your rantings." he thundered.

Madam Jocasta Nu, his sworn enemy, looked into Anakin's clouded, furious face and repeated slowly with absolute conviction. "Chosen One, you will bring death to us all." She shook her head, looking past the apprentice to the pillars and stacks of the exquisite Library, taking in its peace and stately grandeur, its art and beauty and saw not the great hall but some far future place of when all was lost.

The Librarian looked at Anakin again, in fear and loathing, and then quickly scuttled away, whispering. "You must not become a Jedi."

Anakin was adamant as he shouted after her rapidly retreating figure. "I will be a Jedi. You are wrong. I will never turn. Never!"


	4. Age 23

**Chapter 4**** – age 23**

_Four years later..._

The Temple Library was almost silent. The cries of hawkbats echoing through the vast space as they wheeled through the broken windows, the sharp ping of blaster fire and the far-off screams of the dying were a musical crescendo to the devastation of the great Hall of the Archives.

Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, strode through the scarred and battered doors, into the monumental space and looked about him. This had once been a place of exquisite beauty and contemplation, of information and luminance light. Now, all that was gone. The pillars, once so lovely, were cracked, the glowing stacks of datapads dark, the vaulted ceilings with their vivid mosaic figures and stories, broken. His steps crunched sharply. He looked down to see shards of glass scattered across the broken floor tiles, remnants of the once-beautiful transept. There was ash everywhere.

Through the doors, a company of clonetroopers pushed a lone, elderly woman towards him. She was looking down, stumbling, her manacled hands waving, trying to keep her balance in this shattered place as the white-clad soldier gave her another shove. She righted herself, glancing towards her guard, then looked upward, seeing all of that which she had known, destroyed. Her face hardened, body stiffening as she spied the black-cloaked monster waiting for her. She was instantly recognizable as the Jedi Temple Archivist, Jocasta Nu.

"You scum...Come to finish the job, have you?" She spat at him as she stood, trembling with rage and defiance.

"Why, hello, Jocasta." His voice sounded amused.

"I should have killed you when I had the chance, traitor." Her hands twisting, eyes narrowing as she looked about, gauging her chances for escape. There were none.

"Too late now." Calm, dispassionately said.

She lurched forward, trying desperately to seize him, looking as if she wanted to destroy him as a last gift to the Force. He merely sidestepped and she crashed to the ground, growling with futility and despair. The clonetrooper grasped her emaciated arm and wrenched her up, splinters of glass making a pattern of blood in her palm, her face grimacing with the pain.

"Now, now, Jocasta. I need your help."

"Never!" She spat at him, growling into the dark visage and trying futilely to pull away from her captors. "I will never help you. Traitor, betrayer! You were a Jedi, one of our Order. Why have you done this? How could one of our own do this terrible thing?" She wailed, helpless.

He shook his head slowly. "Our own... That is interesting coming from you, Madame, you who tried unceasingly to have me discharged from the Jedi Order." He bent down to the old woman, menacing and huge in his black robes. "Congratulations, you have won your greatest prize. Skywalker is no longer a Jedi."

He rose again, and laughed coldly. "Let me introduce myself. I am Darth Vader, Sith Lord."

"No, no, you can't be." Her voice rising in horror. "The Sith, our deadliest enemy. No!"

"You said it yourself. I am the Chosen One. Balance, remember. What better way to bring balance than the complete annihilation of the Jedi Order?"

"Destruction of all, everyone..." She whispered and began to weep, trying to blot out the last few days. "Wasn't slaughtering the adults enough for your grand scheme? Did you have to kill the children, too?" The overwhelming desolation in her voice cut deeply, her ancient face awash with tears.

Skywalker paused for a moment, reliving that monstrous scene, those loathsome images tormenting him. He had not wanted those little ones, those innocents dead but his Master had insisted, telling him that every Jedi, even the youngest would grow to become their enemy. He could not disagree.

Besides, it was all for Padmé. He had to gain ultimate power for her and her safety so he slaughtered them, calmly striding through the crèches and dormitories, killing everyone, everything that moved, absorbing the anguish that echoed through the Force, growing more powerful with every death. But when they were all gone, all one with the Force, he could still feel himself torn between horror and satisfaction.

He shook himself out of his reverie and turned his masked visage toward her horrified face. "I have killed children before." Flashes of the Tuskens, slaughtered, crushed beneath his rage. He swallowed the desolation, the despair and looked at the Archivist again.

"Where did you learn such cruelty?" her voice, reedy and thin, whispering her horror.

"Why, from you, Jocasta." Vader stated calmly. "You have been training me for many years. Tormenting me, shaming me before Kenobi and the others, thwarting my every attempt at making a life among the Jedi. You have done well."

"Never." Her body was rigid with denial but she lowered her eyes, unable to face the possibility that it might be true.

"And now I need your help again. You are a fine Archivist, the best in Coruscant. You will help me." He brought the full weight of his dark Force abilities to bend her will to his.

"No."

He motioned to the soldiers to bring her forward. He strode past towards a single lit terminal screen and sat down, Jocasta a stubborn prisoner standing close behind him, her arms still held tightly by the white-clad clonetrooper.

Vader typed in a single word - Yoda. As the monitor blinked working, working, Madame Nu gave a short bark of laughter, then subsided to await the databank's reply. Finally, the response - No Information Available. She laughed again, harsh and triumphant, the sharp sound echoing in the vast space, accompanied by the grunts and cries of the hawkbats in the far distance.

"If an item does not appear in our records, it does not exist." The snide remark did not go unnoticed as Vader shifted to meet her fervent eyes.

"I'm sure that your records are incomplete." His threat was not veiled. It was real and immediate.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Who or what is this Yoda? Is it a planet or some binary star system? Perhaps a new starfighter design..." Her bruised look was reflected in his armor, mirroring an infinity of dark despair.

"Where is he? I must know." Insistent, brutal, almost unstoppable.

"If an item does not appear..." she began.

"I will find him, be sure of that."

"Perhaps, if it is the will of the Force." She said, obviously resigned, knowing her life was measured now in seconds. "But I will not help you. And don't be too sure of finding anything in our databases. Just before you arrived, I triggered the destruct program. The microexplosives went off a few minutes ago and should make the databank's hardware systems a mass of melted parts. Yes, I doubt if even Anakin Skywalker is listed." She laughed again.

Vader's prodigious rage was spiraling upward, the fear as well. Lord Sidious would not be pleased. "There is no Anakin Skywalker. He is dead."

"So you say. Goodbye, Anakin. May the Force be with you." A gentle murmur.

"What are you..."

Jocasta Nu twisted suddenly, unexpectedly, freeing herself and pelting towards the door. Before Vader could stop them, the clonetroopers opened fire and she fell into the shards of glass, slicing, tearing, lines of red and brown, the blaster wounds a brilliant bouquet of scarlet spreading across her brown robes. She was dead before she reached the floor.

Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith, moved to the Archivist's corpse, the spreading pool of bright blood staining the broken tiles of the once-beautiful floors. He stood there a moment, his breathing harsh and unsteady. No, he was not defeated today. The Jedi Order would fall. He would make sure of that.

Shaking his head in disgust, he motioned to the clonetroopers and ordered. "As soon as the room is clear, set off the explosives. Tear this place apart until nothing remains."

He looked one final time at the great hall of the decimated Temple Library, now quiet except for the cries of the hawkbats. And as he closed the battered doors behind him, his words echoed in the air.

"I promise you, Jocasta Nu. I will bring balance."

The end.


End file.
